Guiltless
by NixiexGrey
Summary: He used to be the best of the best, until one slip-up did him in. Ten years later and he's still behind bars. But then a long anticipated visit has him rendered weak and desperate for a way out. He won't stop until he finally gets what he wants-a way out.
1. Chapter 1

**So I've been gone for a while on vacation. The Caribbean is absolutely **_**amazing!**_** The cruise line was awesome and the food was even better–of course. But now I'm back and getting hit with inspiration left and right! I had an original story I wanted to post up here, but this idea tackled me to the ground and pinned me down until I told its story and well, here it is. By the way, I might actually use this idea as a real story and since I was thinking about The Mortal Instruments, I decided to use it as a FF instead. But I might actually consider writing this as a book, but differently, you know? Anyway, as always as usual: Critiques and reviews are welcome so long as they're kind or don't write anything at all, that's fine.**

_I'm running down a dark hallway towards a light at the end of the tunnel. I know outside of this reality, the light typically represents hope, an end to madness, but not for me. I know the light is deceiving and this thought is confirmed the moment I crash headlong into the light, glass shattering all around me, and land with a thud onto the hard ground after being airborne for what feels like eons._

_I groan and attempt to open my eyes, but a sudden blow to my gut has me seeing stars behind my eyelids. Coughing, I roll over to my side and scamper up, then open my eyes. What I see makes me wish my eyelids were closed again and I'm several miles away from this place. But I know I can't back down, not after all I've done to get to where I am standing now, alive. Well, barely._

_The black bottomless orbs that assess my body, taking in my cuts and bruises, are filled with malice and glee. A manic look of pure joy crosses the monster's face in front of me, but only for a fleeting second. Funny, how something so cruel, so cold, so _evil_ can have the face of an angel. But as soon as the smile drops, it isn't so hard to believe anymore as the monster takes a step closer, a hand outstretched._

"_My son," he whispers, closing the distance between us by placing his hand on my shoulder. His smile is back, but it's so cold, I shiver. "You came back."_

I'm suddenly jolted awake when I feel a splash of icy cold water hit my face, shocking me to my senses. I sit up abruptly, rub my eyes and give my best glare to whoever is standing outside my cell, clutching a dripping bucket with a smirk on his face. Of course it's the warden.

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine," he smiles. "You've got a phone call."

I don't even bother dignifying him with a reply and pull a wife beater over my head before following the warden out of the cell, trailing behind him in deep thought. I wonder who's gracing me with their presence this time and pray to whatever greater force out there that hasn't given up on me yet that it isn't my lawyer again. _Some people just don't know when to give up, especially when a lot is at stake._

But when I round the corner and step into the visiting room, I feel like I've just gotten socked in the gut the moment I spot _her_ fidgeting in the chair on the other side of the glass window. The first thing I notice about her is that she's dressed up; her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her lips are stained with some color and she's wearing a gray business suit. The second thing I notice is the older identical woman sitting next to her dressed in a similar fashion but whereas _she_ looks like she wants to be anywhere but here–and who could blame her?–the older woman looks genuinely pissed off.

I take a deep breath and not for the first time, crave a pack of cigarettes. I could bum one easily from Clancy–who is one of the guards in charge of the visiting room–but with _her_ in the room, I bite my lip and suck it up.

I plop into the chair in front of the window and try as hard as I can to look nonchalant, as if we're anywhere but a penitentiary and we're discussing the weather. But it's just too damn hard to get away with, especially since this is the first time in _ages_ that I've seen her. And damn, did I really miss out. In the back of my mind, I wonder how old our daughter is right now. Five? Ten? How many birthdays had I missed?

I quickly pick up the receiver, hoping no one notices just how shaky my hand is. "Hello?"

"You look awful," the older woman's voice crackles from the other end. Seriously, when was the last time they even bothered fixing up these phones? I see the crinkle to her nose and smile despite myself. She was always so dramatic. "And you smell worse."

"Oh, that's just Pablo's mom." I tilt my head to the side, indicating the booth next door. "She makes a mean Sloppy Joe from what I hear. Not that that's any different from what we eat here."

At that, I can't help but glance at _her_. She was an awful cook when I wasn't behind bars and I secretly wonder if motherhood changed that. Seems like everything and anything was possible at this point.

"Now why are you really here?" I ask, too tired to play any more games. "I was just having the loveliest dream back in my penthouse suite and I'd like to get back to that."

I know the sarcasm is harsh, but I can't help it. But what annoys me the most is when a look of pity crosses the older woman's face instead of rage, like I wanted to. Then, without my consent, _her _voice enters my mind. _It's like a defense mechanism! You have no other way of venting without seeming to be "pathetic" in your own eyes so you hole yourself up and never let anyone in! Ever! Not even me!_

_Oh, but I did let you in_, I reply mentally. _And that's why I pushed you away the farthest._

But instead of replying to my snarky comment, she does what I never anticipated: she hands the phone over to _her_. I feel the blood pounding in my ears with the force of the Niagara Falls so loudly, I barely catch onto the last syllable of her greeting. "…ey."

"Hi," I say shyly, suddenly very antsy. I want to be anywhere but here, but my butt feels like it's glued in place. Because just as much as I wanted to be away from her…I wanted her so much more closer.

"Listen," _she_ says loudly and I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling. _She's_ trying so hard to be strong…"I have, um, something to tell you."

Suddenly, the pit of my stomach tightens up and I'm barely able to breathe. _She's_ using a tone of voice she'd only used once before. The same tone of voice _she _used the day of my trial when _she_ said _she_ was officially signing our daughter under _her_ custody alone. And right now, I'm handling the situation the same way I did after _she_ shared that bit of news–very, very badly.

"What?" I deadpan. "What other bad news could you possibly tell me right now?"

She flinches and for a split second, I regret hurting her feelings. "I…I found someone else."

For a second I feel nothing, absolutely nothing. Then my walls come crumbling down and I feel every last drop of rage I've kept bottled up the past ten years I've spent in jail course through my body, lighting my blood on fire. I'm seething in the chair and the first thing I want to do is punch through the glass, reach through the other side and wrap my hands around that pretty little throat of hers…

But then I close my eyes and start my meditative breathing that I've been practicing on. _Rage is bad…it's all-consuming…it doesn't get rid of pain, only causes more of it…there are other ways to control it…don't let it control you…_

Eventually, I'm almost near having things all under control and I shock myself when I'm able to curl my lips up to feign a smile. Hopefully, it doesn't look _too_ fake or menacing. "I'm glad for you," I croak. I rake a hand through my filthy long hair–I'm due for another haircut in a day or so–and count from ten backwards in English and Spanish before continuing. "Really. Our daughter needs a dad who'll be there for her, right?"

_She _gawks at me, as if my reaction isn't what she anticipated at all, but regains composure a minute later. "I-er, yes?" she stammers. "Yes, that's very true. Yes, yes. Um…"

"And may I ask who this man's identity is since he's replacing me?" I add in a bit of sarcasm just to throw her off-track that I don't feel a maelstrom of misery course throughout my body.

Now _she's_ really flustered. She smoothes her hair with her hand, touches her earlobe twice and then smoothes out her skirt. All nervous mannerisms pointing to something that speaks louder than her words to me like a secret language. "None of your business," she says with a tone of finality. She stands up, smoothes out her skirt once more before adding, "Just know this: he's going to be a better father than you could ever be."

The older woman and I watch as _she_ storms out of the visiting room and as soon as _she's_ out the door, the older woman gives me another piteous glance before following suit. Once I'm left alone, I close my eyes, rest my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands.

If only _she_ knew the truth–no, _scratch that_. If only she believed me the first night I told her what happened, then I wouldn't be here, behind bars for about ten years while my wife is out and about looking for potential suitors to help bring up a daughter so that she could never know her father's true identity. A supposed _murderer_.

Well, at least I could read Clary like an open book. And she _did_ smooth out her skirt twice, didn't she?


	2. Chapter 2

**So as I look back at my older fanfiction stories, I realize that this one had a lot of potential and decided to pick it up again. I hope you all like it since I worked pretty hard on this one, and just a warning: this has a lot of swearing, so I'm changing the rating to 'M'. This chapter is basically a flashback before he did jail time and even though I don't specify it just yet, Jace is about 20 years old.**

_Songs:_

_This Is War-30 Seconds To Mars (as Jace is thinking back to the murder)_

_Sanctuary (Original Mix) -Gareth Emery (Jace in the club, only because I love this song)_

_Secrets-One Republic_

**Listen to them! The worst that can happen is that you don't like the songs…Give 'em a chance!**

_Eleven years ago…_

The smell of linoleum, lemon-scented cleaner, coffee and worn paper welcome me as I step into the Department of Special Circumstances Office, my second home. The fluorescent light above me flickers on and off rapidly and I make a mental note to get Jeffrey the Janitor on it as soon as possible.

"Agent 77, it's nice to see you've decided to grace us with your presence," Reeves smiles innocuously once I open the frosted glass door in front of me and step inside. "Twenty minutes late. New personal record?" He's at the head of the table and I feel the corner of my lips twitch downwards. _So the head honcho is talking this time, _I muse. _This in no way, shape or form can be good._

"You know me," I smile back. "Always setting myself goals to achieve in order to piss you off before I really get started. Today is twenty, tomorrow I'm thinking thirty is good?"

The corner of Reeves' mouth twitches and I know I've got him. Taking up the only empty chair besides Schreiber, I lean back so that my weight is only on the two hind legs. Pressing Reeves buttons makes working here that much more entertaining.

"So as I was saying," Reeves continues, the edge in his voice lost since all he's thinking about is me, "this case isn't like any we've seen before."

I raise my hand, but choose to speak anyway. "So sorry to interrupt," I say as I lean forward, reveling the twitch in Reeves' left eye as the chair's front legs hit the ground, "but since when have we seen a case like the others before? I mean, that would defeat the point of a Special Circs Department, no? If every case were the same, then the PD would have our cases."

"It's so refreshing to have you present in our meetings," Reeves said snidely. "Really, a true gift. And to go on, we believe that we have a lead in this case." If it weren't for the fact that I was scrutinizing Reeves' face, I would've probably missed the flash of fear behind his eyes. _Reeves? Afraid? That's possible?_

On the outside, anyone would've been scared shitless to mess with Reeves. For a man gracefully entering his late forties, he towers at about six foot two inches with ropy muscles that could destroy a whole tank by just embracing it–not to mention the jagged scar that tugged at the corner of his right eye all the way down to the right corner of his mouth, permanently fixing it to a grimace. He earned that one in war and made sure no one forgot how.

The sweat that covers his shiny dome makes the light flare off his head like a beacon, but that's not what catches my attention and sets me on edge. It's the way that flash of fear that crosses Reeves face transforms into a look of pain. Then, when he turns that sorrowful look to me, I already know what he's about to say.

"This serial killer might not be a newbie," Reeves says directly to me. I feel like the air has been knocked right out of my lungs and as Reeves continues rehashing the Morgenstern case for the other agents, I feel the world slowly fade to black. A cold, ruthless black that starts to fill with color until a scene begins to unfold in front of my very eyes.

* * *

_The Morgenstern case took place in August 31, 2008–two years ago, for those of you who are bad at math. Around seven thirty at night, blood-curdling screams were heard from the Morgenstern's next-door neighbors. They called the police because of this, but by the time we got to the scene of the crime, the perp had gotten away. He left no evidence behind–not a single skin cell or hair follicle for us to hold against him. We scoured the place for evidence from head-to-toe, but it was spotless._

_So we interrogated the only survivor of the murder –he had hid himself in the bathroom and apparently, once the perp broke into the house, he only stayed on the first floor, where the rest of the family was having dinner. Apparently, the son had come home late from being at a friend's house and had already eaten, so he went straight into the shower on the second floor. Mid-shower was when the first screams took place._

_The son jumped out of the shower immediately, recognizing the shrill scream as his mother's. Once he wrapped a towel around his waist, he stepped out and leaned over the banister to witness his mother's corpse bleed out while his father was in the midst of being slashed to death by a man donning a black body suit. His brother was trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but once the man was done with the father, he moved towards the brother._

_The boy–only eighteen years old at the time–was frozen in place until his father's eyes locked onto his son's and transmitted the last message he could before dying: _hide.

_And so he did, not because he couldn't bring himself to face the killer, but because he couldn't disobey his own father._

_The cuts the police discovered were somewhat shallow, but since they covered each body head-to-toe, it was enough to kill the victims. The cuts also left them to believe the perp decided to use shaving razor as his weapon for the sole reason that the sick bastard reveled in torturing his victims._

_We still don't know why this guy targeted the Morgensterns since it seems very obvious they have no enemies, or why this man decided to strike up again, this time taking the lives of three very random victims. We are left to believe that he may have just saw the opportunity to kill, or that whatever reason he has against the Morgensterns and these three other victims are unbeknownst to us…_

* * *

Stalking out of the conference room feeling a notch above dead, I manage to make it to the elevator before I sense someone behind me. Knowing that I'm in a government office and that it's very much doubtful that the person behind me is some lunatic, I resist the urge to pluck up my gun and shoot whomever is behind me once in the head and twice in the heart.

"Hey," Reeves rasps once I turn around. "Look–I'm sorry for causing you any discomfort back there. You know that deep down inside this brute, there's a true man inside that has feelings and I understand that–"

I hold a hand up, silencing him. "It's fine," I say, forcing a smile on my face. "I get that besides our playful little bantering, you care. I understand that. But, really, if what you say is true, then count me in on this one. I'm all for the vendetta, you know. It'll keep me focused, since now things are personal."

Reeves–another firstie–actually shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other and focuses his gaze on the elevator doors behind me. "About that," he sighs, rubbing his shiny baldhead. "Listen, I want you on this case just as badly as you probably want to be on it, but since it's really personal with you…"

I can't believe my ears. Did he seriously just tell one of the Agency's best men to _stand_ _down_ for a top case like this? This bastard has been at it for about ten years–killing about maybe fifty or so people way before even considering murdering _my own family_ for Christ's sake –and still hasn't left any shred of evidence? He wasn't just good; he was scary good. And that's exactly why they shouldn't take me off a case so damn good! I'm always the first guy at the scene, the first one to see a connection and sure as hell the first to bring the perp down, once again protecting millions of lives like I do on the daily!

"You can't be serious," I deadpan. "Seriously, Reeves, you got one fucked-up sense of humor if you think I'm just going to stand down and let you guys solve this one without helping at all. This is _my family's killer_ for Christ's sake!"

Reeves sighs and I can't help but notice the pain in his face. Maybe this isn't easy on him, but it sure isn't some walk in the park for me, either. "I know, Agent. But the government has some stupid law out there about cops and agents not being able to work on cases that hit home–something about it causing them to be biased, or it being 'too hard' for them to deal with."

" 'Too hard'?" I could _feel _my body vibrate with rage. _"Too hard? Are you _kidding_ me, Reeves? You really want to know what's 'too hard'? Standing not even a few feet away, completely naked, in front of the man who's in the middle of killing your whole damn family and not being able to do a single damn thing about it! Now, you tell me what's too hard and what isn't!"_

I clam up, knowing all too well the consequences of blowing a gasket in front of Reeves and storm into the elevator–which, to my convenience, opens up at the right time. I jab my finger on the main lobby button and fixate my eyes on it instead of Reeves as he says, "Sleep on it" before the elevator doors shut.

* * *

On their own accord, my feet lead me to Hunter's Moon a few blocks away and as I enter the bar, my nostrils are assaulted by the overwhelming combined scent of liquor, sweat and cigars. I plop down on the closest stool, down a few glasses of Scotch before paying and leaving a few minutes later since I'm not in the whole "sittin' in a bar" mood. I want to forget, to lose myself somewhere else, where the haunting memories of my past can't catch me. But before I'm out the door, I ask the bartender for directions to the closest club and thank her after she scrawls seven digits into my palm with a wink and a kiss on the cheek.

I space out as my feet guide me to the club according to what the bartender told me and almost pass it if it weren't for the glowing neon blue letters that spelt "PANDEMONIUM". I try not to roll my eyes at the cliché 'enticing name' or even at the bunch of obvious underage kids that cover their bodies with either tattoos or piercings who are waved away from the line.

Once I'm inside the club, I cough a few times, not used to the whole 'dark foggy atmosphere' and blink a few times in order to adjust my sight to the near blackness of the club save for the dizzying light show. I take a deep breath and instead of going directly to the dance floor, I walk over to the bar to 'properly prepare myself for the night's inevitable events'.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks me. I look up from my hands–which, at this point, are shaking with nerves–and inhale sharply when I'm immediately blown away by the bartender. She has fiery red hair, porcelain white skin with a splatter of freckles across her cheekbones and wide, green emerald eyes that are at the moment, cautiously observing me.

"Well, for starters, I'd like a Scotch," I say in my most charming voice. "And then your name and number, please." The effects are obvious; the blush that slowly pools into her cheeks, the way she immediately focuses on my hands instead of my face and the way she bites her lip.

Getting to work, she whips me up a Scotch on the rocks in no time. I down it just as fast and smile at her. God, she is just so beautiful. I used to think Kaelie was quite the looker, but I must be blind, deaf and stupid to think that right now. There is just no comparison, whatsoever.

"Well, the name is on the tag," the girl–Clary, if I read it properly–gestures to her tag where indeed, her name is printed in bold lettering. "As for the number, you've got a lot ahead of you if you think you can get both my name _and_ number on the same night."

"The night is still young," I counter, reveling as the blood in her cheeks once more lends her face color. "And I've got plenty of time for a good chase."

* * *

A few hours later, we're back in my place doing something I never thought possible with such an outstandingly attractive woman–_talking._ Talking and laughing, without any clothes off or even within the confines of my bedroom! And the strangest thing of all is that I'm perfectly okay with that–more than, actually. What is up with this fiery chick and what did she do to the Old Me?

"…And so _I_ said, 'well, are you just going to stand there and ogle at me all day or are you going to fire me?'" Clary laughs–a wonderful sound that I could listen to all day–while rocking back and forth in her chair across from me. I laugh too, because regardless of how corny the story is, she sparks something in me. Something that should alarm me with the novelty of it all, but instead, I'm enjoying every second of it.

After the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence fills the void and I take the opportunity to really _look_ at her. She's staring down at the wine glass in her hands with great interest, her hair falling over her face like a veil and just as I get the feeling she's covering her face on purpose, she lifts her head up and smiles at me.

"Hey, don't hide yoursseelff from meee noww," I slur.

"God, you're so drunk," she giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. I watch in a 'drunken stupor' as she stands up and teeters over to me, gently pries the empty wine glass from my hands and sets it down on the glass coffee table in front of me. A whiff of lemon and lavender drift my way and I lean in to inhale its wonderful scent.

"Why are you sniffing me?" she giggles again, nudging me so that I leaned back against the sofa. I smile, reach up and grab her hips to yank her down on top of me, which causes her to squeal before she holds her hands out and stops herself. Her face lingers just a few inches away from mine.

"Because you smell so good," I said coyly, the lust taking over my senses.

"So you aren't as drunk as I presumed," she breathed as I closed my eyes and relish the heat radiate off her body.

Holding my palms up, I chuckle. "You got me." But before she could reply, I grab her wrists and yank them behind me, causing her to fall directly on top of me.

The instant our lips touch, sparks fly like electricity. I'm at first taken aback by how potent the passion is in this kiss–a kiss I only dreamed of having with Kaelie and never accomplished–but the surprised dissolves into a hunger for _more_. Now that I have my kiss, I want to enjoy every second of it.

Reaching out, I grab Clary's legs and pull her up so that she's straddling me. She gasps and moans as my hands snake their way up her thighs and around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

This feels so _right_, like all my life I've been searching for something more than I didn't even realize until I found it: Clary. Someone so wonderful, so sweet, so…

Suddenly, the kiss tastes bitter. It doesn't feel right anymore, it feels downright _wrong_. Like I shouldn't be sitting here and kissing her; I should be talking to her and getting to know her better. Conflicted and confused beyond anything, I reluctantly break off the kiss and pull back. Taking in the hurt and confusion in her eyes, I focus on detaching my hands from her waist.

"Did I do anything wrong?" she asks, pain straining her voice.

"No, I–can we…?" I gently push her off me so that we're sitting side-by-side on the couch. Leaning forward so that my elbows rest on my knees, I rake my hands through my hair and tug on it to speed up the sobering process.

"It's not you," I sigh. "It just–don't get me wrong, it felt more than amazing, it's just…" I drop my hands and force myself to look at her, knowing that if I speak to her with direct eye-contact, she won't assume I'm lying.

"I want to talk some more," I conclude. "I want to _know_ you, know every single aspect of you. I want to befriend you first, to tell you things and–ah, hell. You probably think I'm some creep right now, don't you?"

Clary smiles a little, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Just a little. But I see where you're coming from, so the sincerity is there."

More than relieved I got my point across, I stand up and hold my hand out for her. "I want to take you out," I announce. "Right now. I want to take you to a nice restaurant so that we'll have the time of our lives."

Clary openly gapes at me, then looks down at her plain outfit–a white t-shirt and jean shorts–before looking up at me and smiling again. "It's a little too late for that, don't you think? What nice restaurants are open at one thirty in the morning? And besides, I'm just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, plus I stink. Some jerks spilled alcohol on me. Can we do this…tomorrow night? So I can dress up and be more presentable?"

I ponder this for a bit, the Scotch and Cabernet making it difficult to think rationally, and finally nod in agreement. "All right," I concede. "I'll take you out tomorrow. What time works for you?"

Clary shakes her head and laughs in disbelief. "I can't believe this is actually happening right now, but around seven I'm free. I'm not working tomorrow either, so I'm free all night."

At that, my smile broadens. "Not anymore, you aren't."

**So there's the little flashback, and maybe if I get more reviews, I'll show you what happens next ;]**


	3. Chapter 3

**So I'm pretty bummed I couldn't get The Clockwork Angel today since I was busy all day, but I **_**will**_** get it tomorrow! I'm making it a must! Anywho, I just had to update this because I feel like I left you guys with an unfair cliffie and I wanted to get this out ASAP. I hope you all like it :) And just another reminder, if you guys like my style of writing, you should totally go to my profile and click the inkpop link I posted for my VERY OWN PERSONAL STORY! Comment on it and on this as well-yeesh, you'd think with all this nagging I'd be pulling all your teeth out-and we'll see how it goes from there!**

_Song:_

_Valentine-Kina Grannis_

_(I know I hadn't mentioned it yet, but it's the perfect song that'll be later described in the story for its significance.)_

* * *

_Present Day_

_POV: Simon_

"God, I'm such an _idiot_," Clary screeches from down the hallway. I'm currently sitting in the living room of the Herondale/Fray Residency with Lily bouncing up and down on my lap. With curly golden locks like her father and her mother's wide green eyes, Lily was the perfect mix. But the one thing about her that annoys me the most is that she has her father's innate curiosity–which makes her the impossible child to baby-sit since she is always climbing or jumping off high surfaces.

"I beg to differ, but only in certain circumstances," I remark as she stomps into the room and freezes mid-rant to see Lily in the midst of climbing underneath my shirt with my glasses hanging half-on half-off her face. I look at her and smile. "I guess the Fray women can't help themselves when they're around me. Call it a fatal attraction."

But instead of laughing like I anticipate her to do, she bursts out crying, causing Lily and I to both freeze. Lily pops her head out through the head hole in my t-shirt–causing the shirt to rip slightly, which sucks considering it was one of my favorites–and gasps. "Mommy, why are you crying?"

Clary rushes over to me and separates her daughter from me, then picks up Lily and kisses her on the forehead. "I just missed you, baby."

Lily frowns. "I missed you too, but I'm not a big baby about it."

"You're just like your father," Clary whispers more to herself than out loud, but Lily catches on and tilts her head to the side, studying her mother curiously.

"I don't look like Simon," she says, but it comes out like a question rather than a statement.

I stare at Clary, waiting for her to clarify to her daughter that I'm not her father, that her real father is somewhere far away locked up when I realize Clary isn't planning on doing that. No, she doesn't want her daughter growing up knowing that regardless of how much Jace loves her, he's in a federal prison miles away from home for a crime he didn't really commit–or, at least I think so.

No, Clary wants her daughter to grow up happy and if that requires her to be ignorant, than so be it. I know full well the consequences of her choices, especially since things aren't looking up for Jace since he's sentenced for life, but being a _father_? Am I really going to accept that? And why couldn't she have told me this earlier, so that I have a chance to defend myself?

But if I am being honest with myself, I know that regardless of how much of a fight I'd put up, I would end up giving up because even though Lily isn't my own, I treat her as such. So friend, boyfriend or husband alike, I became her father…whether I could accept it or not.

Only problem is, Lily isn't that stupid–damn rapier wit. "No," Clary says slowly, "but you look like Simon's dad." A small lie, yeah, but since my father walked out on me years ago and left no evidence of his existence behind, finding out the truth was almost impossible.

Lily considers this and shrugs, ceasing that conversation.

"All right," Clary announces before Lily could ask any more questions–honestly, if curiosity could kill, Lily would've died at birth. "Now I believe you need to be tucked into bed since we have to wake up bright and early tomorrow."

"For karate lessons?" Lily asks, a smile on her face.

Clary can't help but smile back. "Yes."

Squirming out of her mother's grip with lightning speed, Lily lands gracefully on the balls of her feet, hugs her mom and runs off to bed on her own.

"Only nine years old and already capable of breaking bones," I laugh. "Could you imagine how much of a skilled fighter she'll become once she hits puberty? I pity any teenage boy who tries to mess with her."

"Mhm," Clary sighs, plopping down on the couch next to me.

"They'll have to pass a notice in school warning all boys to wear a groin cup to school," I continue, already aware that Clary isn't really paying any attention.

"Yeah," Clary smiles sadly, looking down at her hands on her lap. I fall silent, her sadness making me uneasy. She'd never visited Jace before and since this was the first time, I expected her to be…well, off. I didn't expect her to barge in proclaiming her idiocy loud enough for any animal within a five-mile radius to hear and shrink back in fear.

"So?" I prompt, not really sure of what else to say.

"So I still love him," Clary confesses, tears streaming furiously down her cheeks and staining my shirt when she leans her head against my chest. I smooth the back of her head and rest my chin on her head, trying to sooth her. "It was obvious the moment I saw him. Simon, I wish I hadn't seen him like that. He was so…so closed-off and _rude_ to my mom. But when he looked at me, there was that…spark again and I don't even know how I was able to pull off that lie to him."

"Shh," I coo. "You're being kind of loud and Lily might hear you."

Clary pulled away from my chest and narrowed her puffy eyes at me for a second before breaking down into a gut-wrenching sob again. "He just looks so _different_. He had been working out again, the warden said, and even got his appetite back. But his cheekbones were so sharp, they looked like they were going to pierce through his face."

I picture this and figure that even if they did, he would still look a thousand times more attractive than I would.

"And he hadn't shaved or gotten a hair cut," Clary blanches. "Plus, neon orange makes him look ridiculous."

"Ugh, I like, _know!_" I mimic a Valley-girl accent, which makes Clary laugh a little.

"But, _God_, I just miss him so much it hurts," Clary continues, despite my best attempt of humor. "It's like some days I'll wake up thinking I'll see him next to me in bed and waking up to see he isn't, it _hurts_."

"I'm sorry, Clary," I say, because really, what else is there to say? For the first two years Jace was away, I always kept my phone on in case Clary needed me for whatever reason. It got to the point where I actually had to take to the subway around one in the morning to comfort her to sleep. I had to be there to raise both Clary _and_ her child at the same time. I still am in this predicament and it isn't getting much better.

At least she had gotten over the screaming stage, but not much has changed since then. "Simon, I'm so sorry for keeping you up," she apologized once her sobs subsided. Pulling away from me, she gives me a feeble smile that says she'll at least last through the night.

"It's fine, Clary," I say with a shrug. "I don't have much to do anyway. Being a graphic designer makes me have an open schedule, so…" Standing up, I wince as my knees crack and stretch before giving Clary a parting hug. Kissing her on the top of her head, I open the door and close it behind me before I get to see the look of surprise on her face.

* * *

_Present Day_

_POV: Clary_

As I go through the normal procedures of preparing both the house and myself for nightfall once again, I can't help but think about the kiss that Simon gave me. Sure, it was a friendly little peck and it wasn't even on my lips, but what did he _mean_ by it? Was he finally taking the initiative now that Jace was–just thinking about his name makes my heart break.

Shoving that thought aside and locking it behind a triple bolt metal door, I busy myself with putting Lily's toys away until my hands stumble upon her favorite of all toys: an adorable stuffed lion named Riley. Yes, it's just a lion with fuzzy mane soiled by a nine-year-old girl's slobber, but it's the only toy Jace bought for her before…

_Stop it!_ I command my mind. I hastily put everything away in the black leather storage ottoman, clean up any excess spills and shower before pulling on one of Jace's button down shirts and a pair of his boxers. Looking into the mirror, I sigh, wishing with my whole heart that one day I'll be able to let him go but knowing I couldn't.

Climbing into bed, I instinctively curl up into a ball on the left side of the bed with my back to the right, close my eyes and try as hard as I can to remember the weight of Jace's arm around my waist, the feel of his chest rising and falling against my back. But with every fleeting day, the memory of him starts to get fuzzy and I have to focus on something else, anything else, to keep myself from slipping into a panic attack.

Which is why I'm more than grateful for having Lily around. Besides the fact that she's my daughter and I love her with every drop of my being, she has a lot of her father's traits that are a constant reminder that he's still alive, somewhere, possibly thinking about me.

With that thought in mind, I succumb to the blackness of the night with a smile on my face.

* * *

_Cops have always been around our area, no matter what. So seeing a few squad cars here and there became a commodity. Even when a few of them stopped in front of the house for a quick chat since Jace was friends with Chief Officer Lyons._

_But on that day, as I watched from the second story bedroom window a few squad cars pull into our driveway, I had a sinking feeling they weren't in a chitchat mood–call it women's intuition, or just pure observational skills turning inference as I watched a few of them pulled out their guns as they neared the front door._

_Calling out his name in question, it only took a split second after for the police to barge down our door and start infiltrating our very home. They poured into the house in such a way, it reminded me of how blood spouted out of any injury above the neckline._

"_Kitchen: clear," an officer called from downstairs. Throwing on a robe, I rushed down the stairs to see Officer Lyons scouring the living room with another officer. When he noticed me, he waved the other officer away and walked up to me, no sign of the warm friendliness he used to radiate whenever he'd come over to talk to Jace about his wife, Danielle._

"_Officer," I pleaded. "What in God's name is going on?"_

_His lips became a firm seam as his eyes darted over my head and I spun around in time to see four men holding back a furious Jace. When Jace spotted Officer Lyons, his expression became one of disbelief before turning into that of sadness when he noticed me._

"_Why did you do it?" Officer Lyons sighed, a pained expression on his face._

"_I don't know what you're talking about," Jace snarled, once more fighting against his restrainers. "I'm innocent, I swear. You fucking _know _that yourself!"_

_Officer Lyons sighed once more, taking a step closer to Jace. "It seems I don't know anything anymore."_

_I hadn't spoken to him since that dreaded day, not even to tell him two weeks after his sentencing that I was pregnant. That was a huge shock for me, one that sent a cold shiver down my spine when the reality of the situation hit me: I would become a single parent, taking up all the responsibilities on my own._

_Sure, Simon had been kind enough to help every now and then, but there was only so much he could to. He could, in no way, shape or form, fill Jace's shoes, no matter how hard he tried. He would be a baby sitter forever, and when Lily would grow up and realize the lies I'd told her from the start, she'd hate me forever._

* * *

No longer able to feign sleep, I sit up groggily in bed and look over at the alarm clock on my nightstand to see it's about seven thirty in the morning. How I managed to get in a full eight hours of sleep escapes me, but I'm glad I didn't wake up in the middle of the night screaming like I used to.

"Mommy, mommy, _mommy!_" I hear from down the hall makes me jump out of bed in time to see Lily charging down the hallway, dressed from head-to-toe in her karate uniform with her brown belt wrapped around her waist, carrying Riley with her. Her wild soft blond curls bounce up and down with every step, reminding me that I need to comb my own before they go on the fritz again.

"Good morning, baby," I smile, lifting her up to kiss her on the nose. Taking my face in between her hands, Lily pulls back and places a kiss on my nose as well. "What did you dream about last night?"

"Oh, mommy, I wish you were there!" Lily squeals as I bring her into my room and sit her down on the locked trunk at the foot of my bed so I could comb her hair. As I begin to weave my fingers through her hair, comb at hand, she starts to fiddle with Riley's mane.

"Oh really? Did it involve those faeries, vampires, werewolves or angels you were talking about yesterday?" I swear, she has an even more active imagination than I ever thought possible. I mean, _really?_ Vampires, werewolves, faeries and angels? Where was she getting all this stuff from?

"No," she giggles. "It had a really pretty boy in it that looked like a lot like me and he was…"–she looks up at me, her wide eyes beaming–"_hugging_ you!"

I feel my eyes widen in true surprise. "And who is this boy? And why was he hugging your mommy?" My cheeks flush at the last part because as far as I could tell, Lily hasn't ever seen me getting hugged by anyone of the male influence before…unless she's been doing more snooping than I'm aware of.

Lily shrugs but giggles. "I don't know, but it looked right. Like he was supposed to hug you. You were really sad, mommy. You were crying a lot."

I frown, pausing mid-brush and bend down so that I'm eye-level with her. "Are you sure you don't know who this boy is? You've never seen him before?"

When Lily averts her eyes to Riley and begins to kick out her legs, it takes all my self-control to not completely freak out then and there. I take a deep breath with my eyes closed to steady myself and when I open them, Lily is back to looking at me, her head tilting to the side in that curious way of hers.

"Have you been looking at your mommy's things again when she isn't home?" I ask as sweetly as I can muster.

Lily looks down at the ground. "No…" Glancing up to see I'm not mad at her, she sighs. "Simon went into the bathroom for a while and I was bored so I…I went into your room. Why do you keep a bunch of pictures locked in this thing?" When she taps twice on the trunk's top, I realize she's talking about my secret stash, the one place where all things Jace-related are stored.

I try not to swallow audibly as I feel my heart sink lower in my chest. "When you're older, you'll understand that sometimes, even adults have secrets. Some things we can't tell people because we don't know how they're going to handle it when you know it's too hard to talk about. Some people do things like keeping things away to protect others, like how I'm protecting you."

Furrowing her brow, Lily asks, "What are you protecting me from?"

"The past."


End file.
